The dagger was all too real.

Talya’s fingers hovered a breath above the obsidian blade resting on the velvet-lined pedestal; its edge shimmered beneath the flickering lamplight like oil on water. Magic hummed through the room like the buzz of insects—low, invisible, suffocating. She never nicked nothing like this before. Now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Well, someone gots to show the world what this cursed thing does.

Licking her lips, she took a deep breath, the air in the archive cool, dry, and metallic. She broke into the space behind Archimage Torang’s hidden room using tools bent into shape by Great-Granny’s hands; a set of antique lock picks and a rusted grapnel rope sewn from spider-silk. As familiar in her hands as her own knives.

Tension built with every step, screaming failure. Her pulse roared in her ears as she slid her hand forward. Fingers brushing the hilt, the blade whispered. Not in words. In feelings. Old, buried fury. Hunger that outlasted death.

Talya snatched her hand back.

Gods, what am I doing?

She wasn’t no thief. She was an alley-pick, a map-runner, a girl with too much curiosity and too little sense. But she saw what the Altharon Dagger done. She saw the fires it left behind; the bodies twisted into glassy husks. And the worst part?

Everyone thought it was a myth.

Except her. And Erindor.

Talya’s lip curled at the thought of him; Erindor Vayne, Arcanist Primarch of the Guild Council, a silver-tongued tyrant, a man she hated more than starvation. He helped her once, years ago, when she was bleeding in a gutter with a stolen rune-mark burning through her palm. But he didn’t save her out of kindness. He saved her to use her.

And now, to stop this dagger from disappearing into some noble’s war chest, she had to ask him for help.

“Shit,” she muttered, and picked it up anyway.

The weight of the blade softened her knees. Not heavy—just… absolute. Like holding thunder in a sheath of stone.

The instant it left the pedestal, the room screamed.

Magical wards ignited like sunbursts, and the floor cracked beneath her feet. Talya didn’t hesitate. She spun, bolted for the escape route she memorized two weeks ago, and leaped across the chasm that tore open in the floor. Dust and heat chased her like a wave.

By the time she crawled into the moonlit alley, soot-streaked and coughing, the dagger still tucked in her sash, she knew two things: the Guild would hunt her for the rest of her life, and if she didn’t keep this weapon from the wrong people, there wouldn’t be life left to run to.

##

Erindor’s tower looked like a tooth chipped out of the sky. White stone, arched windows, too much ivy. Talya hated it. She hated the guards less. They recognized and waved her through without a word, as if they’d been told she’d come.

He was waiting in the High Chamber, sprawled on a velvet chaise like a cat eating cream. His robes shimmered with arcane thread. His eyes, pale gray and too calm, flicked to the bundle she held.

“You brought it,” he said.

“Don’t sound so smug.”

“Not smug. Impressed. The vault wards weren’t designed to fail.”

“They didn’t.” She dropped the dagger onto the obsidian table between them. “I was faster.”

“Ah, my favorite method of survival.”

“You said you’d help if I found it.” Talya folded her arms, jaw tight.

“And you did. So I will.” He stood, circling the table, fingers brushing the air around the blade but never touching. “The Altharon Dagger. Or Kelta’s Fang as it was once known.”

“Save the history lesson. Can we destroy it?”

“No.” Erindor’s smile faltered.

“No?” Her breath caught. “You promised—”

“I promised I’d help. Not that it could be destroyed.”

“You lied.” Talya leaned toward him, fists clenched.

He looked at her then, truly looked—eyes cold, calculating.

“I reframed the truth.”

She wanted to throw the table at him.

“So what now? We hide it again? Bury it and hope no one else finds it?”

“No.” He paused. “We use it. Publicly.”

She stared, jaw slack.

“What?”

“To show the world what it does. Not a story. Not a rumor. Evidence. Inescapable, visible destruction.”

“No! Gods, you haven’t changed at all, have you? You want to unleash it?”

“On something empty. A ruin. A desert. Control the narrative, and we control the outcome.”

“And who’s ‘we’, exactly?”

He smiled again.

“You. Me. The Guild—if they bend. But mostly us.”

Talya’s skin crawled. It was everything she didn’t want. But it was the only way people would believe. Without proof, the dagger would vanish again. And the next person who found it wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded hollow.

“Loyalty.” Erindor leaned closer, voice silk over knives. “Just for this.”

“You want me to work for you?”

“No. With me. Once. And afterward, you walk away free.”

She didn’t believe that for a heartbeat. But it was better than running forever with a curse in her pack.

She nodded.

##

They chose the ruins of Laranz Hollow—an old battlefield, already scorched, nothing alive for leagues. Erindor brought wards, scribes, a dozen recording devices. Talya brought the dagger.

As she stepped into the circle, wind whipping her braid across her face; she felt it stir. The weapon knew she wanted to use it. It liked the prospect.

She closed her fingers around the hilt.

Magic buckled the surrounding ground.

The blade didn’t cut. It consumed. Light vanished where she pointed it, stone turned to ash, and the sky screamed.

When it was over, the hill was gone. A crater smoldered where it had been, rimmed in glass.

Talya dropped the dagger.

The scribes were silent. Erindor’s smile had vanished. Good.

“You got your proof,” she said. “Now we lock it away. Together.”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly, eyes on the depression left by the magic. “I believe the world is now ready to listen.”

##

But they didn’t lock it away.

Three weeks later, she heard whispers in the alleys: a northern baron had purchased a blade of obsidian from the Guild. A relic of power, they said. She stormed the Guildhall.

“You said—” she snarled at Erindor, “—we’d hide it!”

“We are,” he replied coolly. “That one is a replica. A fake. But the threat is real now. Fear keeps the peace.”

“You used me.”

“I gave you the platform. You gave me the fire.”

Talya stared at him, eyes narrowed.

“What do you owe me?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Pardon?” He blinked.

“You said you’d help. That we’d work together. So what do you owe me?”

Erindor hesitated. Just a flicker. “What do you want?”

“You’re going to fund my network,” she said, her smile sharp. “No more secrets. No more lies. I want every artifact cataloged. Publicly. Accessible. Free.”

“You’ll start a revolution.”

“I am a revolution.”

##

And so it began. One artifact at a time. One truth, dragged from shadow into the sun.

Talya never forgave him. She made him pay.

With power.

With truth.

With everything he thought was his alone.

Because some blades weren’t meant to be used.

And some thieves weren’t meant to run.